The Biker’s Eye and the Mailbox

This is a personal narrative I wrote about a mishap I once had while I was very young and trying to impress a girl I liked.

I was a stud-like little lamb at the age of five, and already on my way to impressing girls I thought I liked. I performed feats that would make them like me more or think I was cool. This is the true story of how I tried to impress a girl by looking cool on a bicycle but failed miserably.

On a damp and dark day in the town of Howell located in the eastern most county of New Jersey, I attempted to ride the dominating machine of transportation a child used. It was the day I learned to ride a bicycle.

The day was a Monday; this Monday was special. I woke up, went to school, came home, did homework, and then it happened, Mom and Dad took me to the front yard and I learned the ways of the great and almighty bicycle; that was my plan anyway. I felt two feelings that day; one of pure angst and nervousness, and another of happiness and excitement. I don’t think it was ever possible for me to wake up that joyous and excited about a Monday since Christmas had been on a Monday. I was so thrilled and felt so proud of myself that I was going to learn to ride a bicycle; it was time I finally learned and I would now have something else to impress the girls around the neighborhood with. I had watched a BMX show on TV and that made me imagine doing these extreme moves and tricks while 100 feet in the air thinking, “ I am the king.”

I woke up that morning and took care of my morning necessities like brushing and scrubbing my five year old set of fangs. Then I scurried my little body downstairs to throw a nice warm bagel in my face, enough to catch the taste once or twice. I cleared my mess at the breakfast table and off I went to school. I was the talk of kindergarten; everyone knew me and I knew everyone because the word about my upcoming event was so worth sharing with a fellow classmate.

“He’s so cool,” the kids would say, and I would sit back in all my glory and enjoy.

I loved the enjoyment of watching all of the other kids spread the news about me riding the bike around the class like telephone operators. School went by like a breeze.

I walked home from the bus stop right outside my house with my older brother; he was somewhat happy for me, simply because I had something to be happy about. Our brotherhood bond is important to us and our Italian family. Anyway, the neighbor girl who I thought was cuter than anything I could imagine in my five-year-old world was walking with us. I explained to her the events that would take place that night and she seemed thrilled. Then in the blink of an eye she questioned, “May I watch?” Those three words were where my plans began to fail miserably.

“You want to watch me?” I squabbled back.

“Yeah, I hope you do good,” she responded.

This conversation went through my little head and as darkness overcame the sun. It was almost time. I had never really been scared to impress a girl I liked, until this very moment. I finished dinner; my dad asked “You ready, Chris?”

I looked at him with the most stern and determined look and nodded. I was ready to take on the two wheeled challenge.

We made our way outside and onto the driveway where my dad disassembled the training wheels and turned it into a real bike. I was one step closer. He put the bike down on the wheel side, applied the kick stand, and told me to go get it. I peeked toward the neighbor’s house to see if I could find my audience; no one in attendance. I climbed atop the mountain bike with my dad holding the back. He pushed while I worked the pedals and steered.

That entire set of directions went in one ear and straight out the other. I had other things to worry about; however, none of them involved the neighbor girl.

“ Ok Dad,” was my simple response.

He asked if I was ready, and once I gave him the okay, he began to push. I felt like a plane speeding down the runway about ready to take off for my trip across the world. It happened. The neighbor girl appeared at her window and as I approached her front yard she shouted, “ Hi, Chris!” I was less concerned with the fact that I was now riding alone for the first time with no training wheels or help; my only thought at the time was to say “Hi” back and impress her. I went against my dad’s rules on this one. I took my left hand off the bars and turned my entire little body on the bike in the slowest fashion possible.

“Hi Amanda!”

I thought she would melt over that. I was in love at five. Eventually I remembered I was on a bicycle but by the time I was able to turn my face around, SLAM! I rode my bike into Amanda’s mailbox, nearly uprooting the thing from the ground. I cried, loudly. I thought I had everything in place, and everything was where it should’ve been and then this had to happen. I don’t seeing her reaction, but it probably would’ve made the gash over my lip even more painful than it already was. I trudged into the house to be cleaned by my parents.

When my face was cleaned of blood and tears, they looked at me and asked, “There is always tomorrow?”

With a hockey-style toothless grin, I said, “Sure why not.” I was hot stuff because I now had a scar over my lip and I thought chicks dug scars. My mom was concerned about my safety but, my dad thought I was the coolest thing since he learned how to record their favorite show, Third Watch, on tape. He kept asking what was going through my head and why I had turned on the bike. My only response was a shoulder shrug and an “I don’t know” in a mumbled tone.

I went to sleep feeling like an accomplished failure because I had ridden my bicycle for the very first time, but I had hit the mailbox of the girl who I was trying to impress. I didn’t know how things were going to happen and what was going to happen, I just knew that not much good could come out of this.

The next morning I made my way to the bus stop hoping and praying everything would be okay. Amanda was there with a smile on her face, the way she always looked. She turned to me and I froze. “That was really cool” and “my mailbox punched you in the face,” were the only things she could muster up to say. I didn’t know if I should be embarrassed or thrilled because of her reaction. I waited some more.

“I thought the mailbox was put farther down.” I tried hard to play it off, but it was hard to mask the mistake I had made. She told me it was okay and really funny and then gave me a kiss on the cheek. I boarded the bus and the rest was history.

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